


all or nothing

by archekoeln



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Agreste family fluff, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confusing Narratives, Emilie Agreste is alive, F/M, GabeNath Minibang 2020, Non-Chronological
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24232684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archekoeln/pseuds/archekoeln
Summary: When he looked up from his design tablet, he could see someone standing by the window. Familiarity gnawed against his knuckles. He tried to pin the feeling down but only succeeded in making it grow.With nothing else to do, he began to draw.A full figure. Long sleeves. Turtleneck. A business suit. Red and dark blue.Pumps. Long legs.A smart blazer, buttoned-up.Lashes. Blue eyeshadow. A thin coating of blush on her cheeks. Red lips.Hair pinned into a tight bun. Dark blue. A clump covering her eyes.Red highlights. A streak just above her short bangs.Red and dark blue. Red and blue. Red.A smile meant for him. The twist of her lips when he told her about his plan. The way she shivered when he lifted her up; when he knelt in front of her; when he held her hand; when he—Stop.orGabriel wins.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Emilie Agreste & Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Emilie Agreste/Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/Nathalie Sancoeur
Comments: 32
Kudos: 76
Collections: GabeNath Mini Bang 2020





	all or nothing

**Author's Note:**

> today's day one of the [Gabenath Mini Bang 2020!](https://gabenathminibang.tumblr.com/) and because of that, here's my piece for the event!
> 
> expect a lot of great fics and art to come your way for the next few days!! don't worry your butts, it'll only get better from here.
> 
> this was beta'd by [gabriel-fucking-agreste](https://gabriel-fucking-agreste.tumblr.com/) and the lovely art accompanying this fic is by [shadowmayura](https://shadowmayura.tumblr.com/), which is [linked here!](https://shadowmayura.tumblr.com/post/619008449828814848/all-or-nothing-art-post)
> 
> [masterlist post!](https://gabenathminibang.tumblr.com/post/619008871982399488/all-or-nothing)
> 
> the title is from EDEN's song 'drugs'.
> 
> this work is in non-chronological order : )

Papillon held his closed fist above their heads— the same fist that clutched onto the Miraculous tightly.

There was neither glee nor condescension on his face. What was obvious was the quiet, lingering acceptance, dangling like a thin, unraveling thread.

He released the breath he held.

His quest was _finally_ over. 

* * *

_“I win.”_

* * *

Emilie rolled over their duvet and gave Gabriel a startlingly bright smile. At six in the morning, she was the dictionary definition of _sunshine,_ all smiles in the face of a brand new day. The way her eyes crinkled and her lips twisted, with how she slid a warm finger against his cheek, subtly reminded him that the sun was _nothing_ compared to _his_ Emilie.

The display made it hard for him to prevent his own smile from erupting on his lips, unsure and awkward, as though he was unused with the expression.

“Good morning, _ma chère femme,_ ” he murmured sleepily, resting his forehead on hers.

“Good morning, _mon charmant mari,_ ” she replied, closing her eyes.

The quiet that settled between them was a comfortable one. Gabriel held onto Emilie’s hand and, in the privacy of his mind, recited his vows to her (as he did every morning since their marriage). His grip on her was soft but firm, and his thoughts decided that he would rather fall off the face of the Earth than ever think of letting go.

Their shared space rumbled with anticipation. Seconds passed until a knock echoed on their bedroom door. Gabriel’s eyes darted towards the entrance while Emilie opened hers.

Adrien’s head peeked through the crack after it opened, bright green shining with delight when he saw his parents staring in his direction. Emilie’s mirror image watched them smile at his appearance and it was Gabriel’s voice that coaxed the youngest Agreste to enter with all the force of a hurricane, unminding the early morning and the disdain that his father tended to express with the early hour.

Still, it was hard to begrudge Adrien when he happily bounded towards their prone forms, sliding beside Emilie and snuggling with her. The messy bedhead Adrien sported stood in every direction and his eyes still bared traces of stardust. It was clear that he was wide awake and ready for the day. 

Gabriel wished he had that sort of power, to wake at what he considered to be an ungodly hour and be as energetic as Adrien and Emilie, but he had never been a fan of such early mornings.

Nevertheless, as his eyes flickered toward the two people he considered his whole life, he found himself content. 

To see them both so happy was enough.

“ _Mère, Père,_ may I go out to see my friends today?”

Adrien’s voice was both sheepish and bold, sitting on their bed and pulling his knees up to his chest. His eyes crinkled at the edges and his smile was as wide as the _Seine—_ clear, white teeth showing. A quiet spell transcended between the couple while Adrien waited for their response, with Gabriel searching for an answer within Emilie’s eyes. 

The glare she leveled him was familiar. The past had taught him that to enrage her, at such an early morning, was the last thing he should do. The effects of it would be felt until the day ended, and really, he had so much to do that to be on the receiving end of Emilie’s wrath was _not_ on his schedule.

He sighed.

“Of course Adrien. Tell us the details when you get them,” he finally said, shifting a bit so that he could sit. Adrien’s reaction was that of glee— he shot up, hugging his mother and his father, before shouting out a loud _’Merci à voi!’,_ and dashing out the room.

Once the door closed, Emilie all but pounced on him.

Figuratively, that is.

“Gabriel! How could you agree so easily?” Emilie’s voice rang against his ears, a little shrill despite the softness it had exuded mere moments ago. The confusion on his expression must have been noticeable (he always had difficulty holding in his reactions in the morning) that Emilie’s lips had been pulled into a deep frown.

“You were the one to tell me to let him go sometimes,” Gabriel said, half-wondering if he should go get someone to bring Emilie her morning coffee. A mug filled with black coffee often cheered her up. “You told me there was no reason _not_ to let him go with his friends—” 

Something in the way Emilie’s face hardened made Gabriel take pause. The way she looked at him, eyes squinted and lips pursed, worried him. It only lasted for a few seconds before her expression softened. 

Emilie let out a sigh.

“Did I?” She shook her head. “I must have forgotten.”

* * *

“Are you ready?” Emilie’s question broke through Gabriel’s muddled thoughts.

Gabriel turned to face his wife, noticing the way the stark fluorescent light above her shone like a spotlight. It felt like any light source _was_ a spotlight for Emilie Agreste. He blinked when all he could see was the glittering above, blurring in his vision. 

In the few moments he had seen Adrien that whole week, only one was spent in the same room for more than an hour— and it was only because he had to retake his son’s measurements for an upcoming project. _Haute Couture Week_ was still months away but they had their charity gala in the works, and as one of the faces of the company, Adrien had to wear something suitable to represent them.

Emilie insisted he design a new suit for himself and their son, as well as a new dress for her. Naturally, he would, even without the reminder. 

Before he knew it, two weeks had passed and now, he had two suits and a dress prepared for the three of them.

But that wasn’t what he was facing today, wasn’t it?

“Gabriel?” Emilie’s voice came from behind him now. He blinked again and saw that Emilie had begun moving toward their seats, cordoned so that no one else would take it. The gymnasium was already filled with people, all loud and excited and _too much_ for the fashion mogul. The urge to run back home with his tail behind his back flared within Gabriel, and apart from Emilie pointedly looking at him, equals parts exasperated and fond, it was Adrien’s upcoming match that helped him sit still and be comfortable

Or as comfortable as he could be, considering the circumstance.

It was only in that one moment spent with Adrien, when Gabriel took his son’s measurements, that his son had politely inquired if they were busy on the last Friday of the month. 

Emilie had been the one to answer, making sure that his schedule was spotless even before he could ask her. 

And when Adrien won, when he had a gold medal hanging on top of his heaving chest, he turned to his parents, and for once, Gabriel was a witness to his son’s bright smile.

It mirrored that of Emilie’s and he was falling in love with it all over again.

* * *

The screen of his tablet was awash with white. He could hear Nadja Chamack’s voice as she dictated the news— a replay of yesterday’s fight between Mayura against Ladybug and Chat Noir. Emilie stood beside him, surprisingly attentive, her hands curled into fists.

Gabriel glanced at her and saw how her eyes were fixated on the screen, staring at the footage of Mayura in all her glory. It was the normality of the situation, watching three super-powered humans fighting like they weren’t being observed like spectacles for entertainment by the entirety of Paris.

When Chat Noir landed a hit on the villainess, a loud crack that was audibly heard from his staff colliding with her shoulder, Emilie visibly flinched. His eyes narrowed at that, at the implication of it, and he couldn’t help but stare at Emilie’s shoulder, covered by the sleeves of her white sundress.

He wondered why his head immediately veered into that dangerous line of thinking, not when he knew Emilie to be fearless and undaunted even in the face of his anger. A sound, as loud and as painful as it seemed on the screen, shouldn’t have gotten a reaction from her.

But it _did._

Without making it too obvious, he slipped a hand behind her back, settling on the shoulder he was wary of. Gabriel pulled Emilie close to him and while she was shocked at the sudden movement, Emilie melted into his chest. 

“Are you alright, _ma chére?_ ” His grip on her tightened. If it caused her any pain, she didn’t say.

“Yes, yes. I’m fine,” she lifted her head to stare at his concerned gaze, eyes glassy. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit light-headed. I should, I should just head to bed.” 

She had no reaction other than that. Even when Gabriel gave her a tentative squeeze, even when she smiled as though he meant to impart some sort of concern for the sudden way her body lurched and toppled so easily in his presence— there was nothing else that could Gabriel any more reason for the strange thought that crossed his mind just minutes ago.

He had no choice but to let her go.

* * *

In one of the many backrooms of the _Gabriel_ head office, the eponymous CEO of the luxury brand stood still like a statue, listening to the snatches of conversation flitting through the cracks under the walls. They ranged from gossip, _“I can’t believe that Mme. Agreste did that!”, “I know? That was so bold of her.”,_ to company news, _“The poor assistant was crying when she left.”, “It was her fault, so really, she only had herself to blame.”,_ to fashion news, _“Did you hear about the latest Chanel handbag? Apparently that was a collaboration.”, “Wait, really?”, “Yeah! With the Sancoeur house.”._

And then there was all of the above.

 _“Mme. Bourgeois is looking for M. Agreste!”_ Someone was shouting, passing through his hiding place. _“Mme. Agreste said to look for M. Agreste! And to hurry!”_

Hiding was unbecoming of him but he had no intention of showing his face after Emilie had the _gall_ to schedule a meeting between him and Audrey Bourgeois. Despite the fact that Audrey singlehandedly propped him up from anonymity to fashion royalty to anyone who would listen, her general demeanor was one he had been stubbornly ignoring if only to preserve his sanity. 

It helped no one that her unpleasantness grated him to the core.

As he hid from the world, waiting away the hours before he could leave, the brooch pinned on his chest pulsed with the familiar rhythm of emotional distress. _Fear_ echoed in his thoughts, slipping through the barriers of his mind. 

Nooroo flew out of the Miraculous, eyes wrinkling at the smoke by the soles of his holder’s shoes. 

“Gabriel,” he murmured, already weary of the shouting that had begun to build outside the room they were in. 

Months of working through the emotions that surrounded him had given Gabriel the ability to squash his own panic as it threatened to rise from his throat. Panic in itself was a detriment when he could feel _everything_ around him. 

“Well, this is just the reason I need to cancel on Audrey,” he said. The kwami in front of him might have tittered with amusement. His holder had such good luck when it came to escaping the blonde woman that Nooroo often thought he was Tikki instead, manifesting her good luck. 

“Nooroo, _transforme-moi!_ ”

* * *

They knew that the appearance of Mayura’s _sentimonsters_ were few and far in between. Most of the time, a week would pass before she ever thought to send another one and always with the intent to obtain the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. The heroes of -Paris were unsure of her objectives apart from that— they all assumed she wanted the power that came with the two Miraculous.

With up to five emerging in Paris in one day, Ladybug decided to call on the other heroes of Paris in order to help with the fighting. 

Naturally, Papillon wasn’t one of them, instead delegated to observing the rooftops for any sign of Mayura, hoping to catch her off-guard. His own _akuma_ stood near, vigilant and alert, in case a stray _sentimonster_ found its way towards him.

Nooroo had been skittish up until he transformed. There was something in the way his emotions flared as he floated beside Gabriel, an unsettling nervousness permeating his form. Gabriel had asked the kwami but received no answer, and throughout the day, while Papillon stood guard atop the streets of Paris, Gabriel poked through the back of his subconscious, willing Nooroo to share his problem.

He never got an answer. Gabriel didn’t think he would, all things considered. Nooroo was as secretive as he was quiet and while that suited Gabriel just fine, it felt as though there was something hidden beneath Nooroo’s unusual, jittery silence.

On her perch high above the streets of Paris, Mayura watched as chaos unfolded right before her eyes. Creating a _sentimonster_ was taxing enough. Five at once was pushing herself to the brink. She would have preferred to be hidden back at her apartment or the sewers that snaked underneath the city but her _sentimonsters_ needed guidance. 

The addition of four heroes didn’t help matters— Ladybug had called Rena Rouge, Carapace, Queen Bee, and Viperion, and with Chat Noir and Papillon, that made seven versus her six. They would soon realize that she still held the _amoks_ powering her creations. Before that could happen, she needed to leave.

“Mayura.”

There was a thump behind her, followed by a rustle. Mayura laughed, waving her closed fan like a greeting. She hadn’t even _moved_ before the intrusion appeared, content to bother her as she scrutinized the battle between the heroes and her _sentimonsters_ far, far below.

Her time to leave was ticking slowly. He would see to it that she didn’t. 

“Papillon.”

She half expected the teenage heroes to land beside him and declare her capture. Why would Papillon confront her if not for the assurance that she would be swiftly defeated? Even with her _sentimonsters,_ the heroes far outnumbered her and her creations.

But her connection to her _sentimonsters_ never wavered. The rings she had on each finger, the items she had used in order to house all five _amoks_ still burned against her skin, full of magic. Through her mind, she could still feel her creations breathing, evading the heroes with her instructions repeating in their minds like tapes looped on repeat.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Mayura purred, twisting herself to face him. Papillon, in all his glory, languid in his pose, stared back at her. The silver mask that covered his face, sans his mouth, gnarled to accommodate his disgust. _Probably._ She couldn’t read him at that moment, however much she tried to. Even his emotions were muted beneath the magic of his Miraculous. “Aren’t you supposed to be hidden away, letting the children fight for you?”

He bristled and her smile widened. _That,_ she could read. “Must you be so rude? I thought you needed the company. Not even a _sentimonster_ around to protect you,” he answered, his cane tap-tap-tapping on the concrete. “But you’re no different than me. Creating monsters to do your bidding. This is the first time we’ve seen you out in a while. Why is that, I wonder?”

Something in his grin was too familiar to discard as coincidence. Mayura found herself studiously ignoring the way her skin flushed a darker shade of purple and the way she could hear Duusu’s voice cackling at the back of her head. Her kwami always enjoyed it when Papillon found them, though Mayura never thought to ask him _why._

This was why she hated going out in the first place.

“My lair is under renovation,” she drawled as though they were acquaintances sharing trivial chit-chat and not enemies trying to rip each other’s brooches off. “You know how it is in Paris these days. Too expensive apartments and this poor, defenseless woman trying to live through it.”

“You could always move in with me,” he blurted out. Two seconds later, he was stuttering and tongue-tied, unlike the charming and collected Papillon that often appeared alongside Ladybug and Chat Noir. If she knew any better, he _almost_ seemed embarrassed. She filed that little reaction in the back of her mind, where Duusu’s laughter echoed.

The snort that left Mayura would be called inelegant but she couldn’t help it. 

“If you have an attic I could use to release my creations, I’d be delighted to take you up on your offer,” she said then, all the while laughing at his choking gasp.

* * *

The mattress was soft beneath his aching body but Gabriel wouldn’t stoop low enough to complain. The king-sized bed was always one of the things he enjoyed going to at the end of the day, regardless of whether he had stood in attention in front of his design tablet all day or he sat in the countless meetings he was beholden to attend as CEO.

“Gabriel—”

The whine of his wife echoed from the bathroom and Gabriel had to stifle a groan at her high-pitched voice. Gabriel loved his wife dearly. He would do anything for her. He would go through _anything_ for her—

But maybe listening to her sing through her thirteen-step evening routine was pushing it.

As always, Gabriel held his tongue. He waited patiently on their bed, already done with his own routine. When the door opened and when he lifted his eyes, the sight of Emilie wrapped in a robe far too flimsy to protect her modesty greeted his vision. Her hair rested on her shoulder, long golden strands transformed into a loose braid. 

She grinned while settling beside him, sitting up as she coaxed him to lay his head on her lap. His short hair, normally coiffed and impeccable, was splayed around his head like a blanket. Emilie took advantage of it by running her fingers through his hair.

“Did you really have to tell Audrey that I was at head office the other day?” He asked, enjoying the feel of Emilie’s nails against his scalp.

Emilie’s head rolled to the side, resting on the headboard of their bed. Her fingers continued their ministrations, almost enjoying the way Gabriel seemed to soften at her touch.

“Of course. You needed to talk to her about the new winter line,” she answered.

“But you don’t even _like_ her, let alone her company,” he countered like a child.

She watched him with her brows raised. “I do! Whoever said that I didn’t like her.” 

Gabriel sighed, closing his eyes as Emilie grinned again. “You really should talk to her sometimes, _mon amour_. If I answer the phone for you one more time, she might throw a tantrum,” she said, twirling a strand of his hair around one of her fingers. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he murmured, feeling lethargic. “Especially after the whole seating issue during our last fashion show.”

If Gabriel had glanced at his wife, he would have seen the surprise coloring her cheeks. If he hadn’t finally fallen asleep, spent from a day’s work and the lulling of her fingers, he would have heard her ask—

“What fashion show?”

* * *

Emilie danced along the edges of his sight, going around the room with an ecstatic Adrien in her arms. The fast beat of a local pop song, one that Gabriel couldn’t name for the life of him, filled the room. He enjoyed watching them, his two favorite people in the world, just letting themselves cross the expansive room with a skip in their steps.

Gabriel loved every little second of it, his gaze never leaving them as Adrien dodged his mother’s feet, as Emilie moved in her long tulle skirt, a hurricane in all but name. 

With each finished song and with each hour that passed, the impromptu dance lesson continued. Both mother and son ignored him while he remained in his seat, with his sketchpad propped on his knees and his pencil between his fingers. Whenever Adrien let out a peal of laughter, tripping over his feet, or whenever Emilie raised her hands and swept Adrien in a lifting hug, Gabriel made sure to sketch out the faces they had made then.

A video or a photo would have been easier, he knew, but a drawing was something special. In Gabriel’s eyes, it was a gesture of intimacy. He enjoyed tracing the lines that made up Emilie and Adrien’s smiles, at the pucker of their lips, at the crinkle of their eyes as the world embraced their laughter.

* * *

Gabriel struggled with each swipe of his fingers over his screen. The designs he had made were too simple. Everything he came up with lacked the sense of passion he often had with his previous works— the ones that caught the eye of the public and the critics that fancied themselves at the height of all things fashion.

He thought of the days when inspiration would gush out of him like an unannounced torrent, submerging him in years of designs that he would be too loathed to discard because trends tended to change at a moment’s notice. He remembered Moleskine notebooks filled to the brim with his drawings. Little pieces of post-its stapled together and stuffed in thick manila folders, all labeled _’For Future Use’._

Where had that energy gone? Had he lost his drive? Was it time to hand in the reigns of Head Designer for this new set to someone else? He could rest, recuperate while the season moved forward. 

Yet he couldn’t decide. He knew that Emilie would be disappointed. She was looking forward to his designs for the winter season. Ever the drama queen, she waxed poetic about winter even when her visage clearly expressed spring.

Gabriel closed his eyes. The world turned into a caricature of his current atelier, emptier and fuller at the same time. Pictures of Adrien were hung on his walls and statues of Emilie littered the corners of his office. 

When he looked up from his design tablet, he could see someone standing by the window. Familiarity gnawed against his knuckles. He tried to pin the feeling down but only succeeded in making it grow. 

With nothing else to do, he began to draw. 

_A full figure. Long sleeves. Turtleneck. A business suit. Red and dark blue._

_Pumps. Long legs._

_A smart blazer, buttoned-up._

_Lashes. Blue eyeshadow. A thin coating of blush on her cheeks. Red lips._

_Hair pinned into a tight bun. Dark blue. A clump covering her eyes._

_Red highlights. A streak just above her short bangs._

_Red and dark blue. Red and blue. Red._

_A smile meant for him. The twist of her lips when he told her about his plan. The way she shivered when he lifted her up; when he knelt in front of her; when he held her hand; when he—_

**_Stop._ **

He was used to drawing with Emilie as his model. It was expected of him. Emilie was his wife, and in that sense, was his muse as well. She brought to him a plethora of inspiration that he could thumb through any time he so desired—

_She turned around and the blankness of her face unnerved him. He blinked and it began to fill with what he’d drawn on his tablet._

—and yet, here he was, watching the figure of another woman, clad in red and black, parading around the room like she was meant to _be_ there. Like a piece of a puzzle that he’d long since abandoned, until he found it stuffed in his drawer, gathering dust.

He tried thinking about Emilie again. Gabriel looked around, gazing at all of Emilie’s likeness. His atelier was filled with images that reminded him of his wife, of his devotion to his wife— of his _love_ for his wife. 

When he opened his eyes, all he could see was a blank canvass that stared back at him. The curtains of his windows were closed, though he could see the silhouette of the outside through the thin fabric. 

His eyes were drawn to his door. The empty space near it felt odd. He remembered placing a statue there but having it moved the next day because it didn’t feel _right._

He just wasn’t sure why.

* * *

Nathalie made the mistake of _feeling._

An odd mistake, considering her surname. _Sancoeur,_ it read in big, bold printed letters. _Sans cœur. Heartless._ It was her surname, their brand built from the simmering beginnings of a woman who had lived through the aftermath of a war. It was what empowered her to push through with her thought of _haute couture,_ even in the fledgling society built on rubble and destruction.

Despite her family history and how the woman she looked up to embodied and embraced the moniker of _heartless,_ Nathalie had still made that mistake. A truly odd, wondrous one, considering the face of the hero standing in front of her.

They called him _Papillon._ It was the most straightforward name the group of heroes could come up with. _Butterfly, because he used them to empower his chosen ones._

Maybe her romance books were attempting to dictate her life with nonsense. Maybe she was projecting. He wore his mask like he was hiding from the world, unlike the other heroes who had noticeable traits to them. And unlike the villain of Paris, who bared her features for the world to see.

But there was no way he led _that_ sort of life if he was a mentor to the obvious child-heroes that patrolled Paris’ streets.

Apart from that, he knew who she was.

And really, that was what really started it all.

Because, it was obvious, in a way, when Papillon fixated on her during the bank heist she had been a part of. 

The heroes, predictably, swooped in to take care of the robbers. Ladybug and Chat Noir, in their skin-tight spandex suits (really, why would _children_ wear something that hugged their figures too closely) spent far too long with the men who had already gotten off with the money. And the hostages (including her), predictably, waited for them to either come back or for one of them to be _akumatized_ so that they could be set free. That was how things went about, as the news articles loved to describe the play-by of any event that included the heroes.

What they didn’t predict was Papillon arriving as himself, along with a butterfly.

Nathalie watched, a little awed, more peeved, as Papillon descended into the room through one of the windows. The butterfly lingered above him like it was waiting as his creator surveyed the room. He caught her eye and immediately prepared herself for an _akumatization_ , schooling her thoughts to indifference.

Instead of her, it had been the woman beside her that received the _akuma._ One by one, Papillon and his champion went to work and before long, the hostages were freed from their restraints.

Papillon was the one who had tended to her.

“ _Mlle._ Sancoeur, a pleasure to see you,” he said, removing the bindings that kept her hands together.

Nathalie examined her wrists. The ropes had dug against her skin, leaving welts in its place. Had she not spoken out loud, maybe the robbers wouldn’t have tied hers a little harder than the others. 

“You know me?” She accepted the hand he offered. Her legs were sore but she wanted to stand and stretch them.

Papillon lingered beside her. He had yet to let go of her hand. “Of course. I do watch the news.”

He talked like they were acquaintances. In their other forms, maybe they were. Papillon couldn’t have known the link that they shared, but just to be sure, Nathalie muted the more obvious emotions that would connect her to her alter-ego, in case he could sense them.

At least she hadn’t worn her miraculous that day. God knew how much Duusu would have enjoyed being near another kwami, albeit transformed.

“Is that so? So you must’ve seen that awful interview,” Nathalie tried to laugh, tried not to feel suffocated with a paranoia that he would soon figure her out. 

“Awful? You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he remarked. “If anything, you did very well— even when _Mlle._ Chamack pushed you to answer that personal question.” 

He was charming, in a mysterious sort of way. He was something else, if the upturn of his brows as she fumbled with her wrists, feeling the sting of rope burn on her skin, was any indication. He was familiar, but not in the way that she’d been watching him on television for the past year and a half. 

Above all else, he was _there_ , standing in the way of her getting the Miraculous of his two charges.

“I’m flattered,” she exclaimed. “It isn’t always that I’d find a superhero for a fan.” 

“Well, now you do,” he said, lips crooked into an innocuous grin.

Only when he left, when the officers had taken her statement, and when she had taken a taxi home did she realize that he (as a civilian, not as the hero _Papillon_ ) might have known her too.

Maybe she could use _that_ against him.

* * *

There were moments when he felt off— like he had stepped onto another plane of existence. Like he had spent far too long upside-down that blood clustered in his head like thorns.

His atelier was a place where he found solace in spite of being surrounded by his work. In it, he was free to do as he pleased. And in his hands, currently, was a piece of white fabric with red stitches. The seams were tattered and he was bereft of time to fix it up before his wife came to take it.

When he looked up, it was Emilie staring at him. She wasn’t looking at the fabric.

Hands behind her back, posture ramrod straight— it almost seemed as though she held herself as he would so often do. _She never did that before._

The similarities ended with the way her eyes averted his. It was unnerving to see Emilie so dim that she shrunk beneath his gaze. She was already so small compared to him, but now, _now,_ it looked as though one exhale in her direction would send her flying. 

He opened his mouth to ask _why,_ but instead of the question, all he could hear was ire. 

_“I’m the only one who decides what’s good for my son!”_

His features writhed with palpable rage. He stared at her, eyes sharp, blood simmering with the realization that she had made it her quest to undermine him with regards to his own son’s wellbeing. His son! Adrien! How dare she, how _dare_ she— to do what should be his— Emilie would never—

_Emilie._

Gabriel opened his eyes and blinked. His instinct was to recoil at the sight of a too-close-for-comfort face, even _if_ it was his wife leaning far into his personal space. His fingers thumbed the white fabric he had been holding since that morning, feeling the seams rub against his skin.

The voice in his head echoed, fretful and decisive and confused. _My son! My son! My son!_

A thought crossed his mind. 

_Wasn’t Adrien— wasn’t he Emilie’s son too?_

* * *

Mayura and Papillon were the only two adult Miraculous holders in the whole city of Paris. After the fiasco with Feast, there would be a surplus of them, though far away enough that they didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Paris was where the Ladybug and the Black Cat were at. That was where Nathalie needed to be.

She spent her day in her office, looking at news articles online. She was as invested with the heroes as was everyone else, although her reasons were more personal than natural curiosity. The clicking of her keyboard as she typed another line into her document drowned her thoughts about the new tab she opened in her browser.

_Papillon and Mayura spotted at the Eiffel Tower!_

The public latched onto the fact that one of the heroes of Paris had been seen together with the villain, and that both hadn’t been in the middle of a battle like they were prone to do. Instead, they sat together, watching the slow passing of the night sky. 

It started when Papillon offered Mayura a place to stay. That had given her a few days worth of laughter and it was all she could think to say whenever they met during attacks for a whole month. 

It started when Nathalie held up her hand to Papillon, so he could pull her up.

It started when Gabriel watched Mayura, wary and awed and frightened that she was his _wife,_ but knowing that she _wasn’t_ and being enamored by her presence anyway.

It started without them ever thinking too hard about it. It started when Mayura felt rattled enough to wander the Eiffel Tower in the middle of the night, the thought to breathe settling in the pit of her stomach that she made her way to Paris’ highest point only to watch the stars that blanketed the sky.

It started when he followed her, when he cornered her, and when he joined her.

It started and before long, it became a routine. She didn’t know what the other heroes thought of their nightly meet-ups. She _hadn’t thought_ of what she would do if they were caught.

She didn’t care. 

Maybe she should. Maybe Mayura wanted to care. There was something about the way he would smirk at her during the night that was rehearsed and awkward, relaxing once they settled a foot apart. There was something overly intimate and nostalgic and familiar and warm of the whole thing, of her sitting and of him just being _there._

Even after the article came out, even with the backlash that came with it— mostly directed at the Papillon, they still found it in them to meet up. Night after night, once they were sure no one would catch them a second (or a third, or a fourth) time, they found solace with each other, unminding the words that the press and the public had for them.

* * *

“Why do you want the Miraculous?” Papillon asked.

Maybe it was the calm night or the way that he wrapped her in a half-embrace. Maybe it was how he asked, stilted and awkward and too caught up in himself that she had just _laughed_ at him instead of answering outright. The question was serious enough to warrant her undivided attention but Mayura couldn’t help the mirth that bubbled out of her throat. It was so out of the blue that Papillon stilled for the shortest of moments. 

For one, she never laughed, not like _that._

For another, her amusement sounded divine. He wished he could always hear her laugh like it didn’t matter if she was a villain and he was a hero. 

“I’m not sure,” she said, eventually calming down. 

He already missed her laughter. “You’re not sure?” 

“I’m not,” she repeated. When he looked at her, he would see her smiling. “You might not believe me but I don’t know _why_ I’m trying to get their Miraculous.”

“Then why are you?”

“I said I'm not sure. Compulsion? Power? I need them for _something._ I just don’t know what that _something_ is.”

Papillon paused. “It’s been a year,” he offered.

“It has,” she agreed.

Mayura’s eyes wandered the expansive Paris skyline. “Why am I here?”

“Hm?”

“Here. In this place, in this life. I’ve felt like, like I’m not supposed to be here.” Mayura let out a shuddering exhale. “Like, this isn’t what should be.”

Papillon was quiet throughout, as Mayura continued. “Doesn’t it feel like a dream? Everything does.”

“ _Ma paonne,_ ” he murmured. He didn’t know where she was going with her thoughts.

“It feels like we aren’t supposed to be _like_ this, _mon papillon,_ ” she shivered. Her fingers gently traced the lapel of his suit, before hesitantly withdrawing. “Why are you here? We never really talked about that. Aren’t you trying to save your wife?”

Beside her, Papillon visibly recoiled. She looked up at the movement, watching as his mouth formed a thin line _._ It was only until he abruptly stood that she even realized what she had said.

_Wife._

Her own eyes widened and she jerked away, far too late all things considered. She wasn’t even able to apologize as he gave her a scathing look, one that belied the feeling of confusion that pulsed through his skin. She could feel it on her own, crawling electric across her spine.

Papillon brushed his suit as calmly as he could, and a breath later had jumped away, leaving her alone.

* * *

Ladybug stopped in her tracks, looking at the cleansed feather carried by the wind. The thought to reach out echoed in her mind but she ultimately discarded it.

_They say catching feathers in mid-flight will grant you one wish._

Ladybug shook her head. “ _Chaton?_ ”

“Yes, milady?”

Chat Noir was eager to get home, hoping to catch a glimpse of his parents before they retired for the night. He had yet to get his schedule from his mother, as the morning stretched so long that dusk replaced dawn before everyone knew what had been happening. 

Plagg murmured deep in his subconscious, something about cheese. Chat stifled a laugh. 

“Who have we been fighting this whole time?” Ladybug asked, blinking at him.

Chat Noir watched her brows furrow. The question seemed to shock her as it did him. They’d been together for the last two years, so of course, she should know that it was Ha— “Mayura? We’ve been fighting Mayura.” He paused, tapping his baton against his leg. That _was_ right, wasn’t it? He remembered feeling like a million euros after Mayura’s shadowy voice echoed in the streets of Paris, through her _sentimonster._

“It’s going to be the anniversary of the day we first fought her. Ugh. I don’t want to remember that stone monster she made.”

His shivering didn’t go unnoticed. Ladybug gave him a sympathetic glance. The way she exhaled was heavy— like there was more to her question but she hadn’t figured out how to explain herself.

“Yeah. Mayura, right. Sorry. I was just… confused about something.”

* * *

Gabriel Agreste rose from the dim alley Papillon retreated to, hands in his pockets and still clutching the Miraculous in his iron grip. He hid in plain sight, mask stripped and coat shredded, Papillon shed for him to traverse the way home. A quiet Paris greeted him as he walked, devoid of its inhabitants.

Likely, they were still watching the news or the replay of the fight between their famed heroes and the two villains. 

It gave him the chance to pass through the streets without much fuss. Often, he was the subject of the inklings of any type of paparazzi, swarming him whenever he found himself outside his mansion. The subject of headlines, because to see Gabriel Agreste in broad daylight, without his assistant flanking him, was a sight too rare to even imagine in Paris. The past year, his appearance only amounted to less than five times and truthfully, he preferred it that way. 

In going through the streets of Paris, he took in the rubble and the chaos left by his _akuma._ Without the _Miraculous Ladybug,_ it seemed as though the city remained in shambles. Again, Gabriel felt the Miraculous in his pockets, almost burning a hole through the fabric of his pants, as if begging to be let out. He ignored it, of course. 

His ultimate wish was at hand and no force on Earth will let him part with the Miraculous until he saw it cast.

The mansion loomed closer, standing proud even with all the _akumas_ that had made it their mission to destroy anything stamped with the _Agreste_ label _._ It stood, much too tall for a house, overlooking the city. It was an intimidating structure but as far as Gabriel knew, it was _home._

Gabriel slipped past through the open gates, indifferent that they were open in the first place. 

Grenier was nowhere to be seen, though Gabriel expected that he wouldn’t be able to return as quickly after having been _akumatized_ yet again.

And Nathalie...

Nathalie was still out as Mayura. Asking her to bring the two heroes-turned-civilians to safety was _not_ to soften the blow of their defeat— Gabriel kept telling himself that he wanted Adrien safely out of the way while he used the Miraculous. Knowing them, they would regroup before Adrien even thought of going home.

Once his wife was back, once Emilie was awake, only then will Adrien be able to see her.

A deep sigh escaped him. His excitement had been muted into horror. Explaining to his son the way they fought against each other was not a conversation he wanted to have.

He hoped for the best.

* * *

“Duusu,” Nathalie called.

From behind one of her potted succulents, the kwami of emotion ripped through the air, colliding with Nathalie’s chest and sending the woman a step back. Duusu was laughing with glee, rubbing his face on the ruffles that adorned the woman’s dress.

“I missed you! Where did you go? I thought you’d be home earlier!” Duusu startled Nathalie with his naturally loud voice, already in the process of showering his holder with little taps of his _hands._

She pressed a finger against his head, rubbing slowly. Duusu leaned on it. “You know I had to go out today. I did try to get back early but I had to talk to people.”

“That’s _boring_ — you should have left earlier Nathalie!” The high-pitched whine grated Nathalie’s ears. She had to get used to it, being on the receiving end of Duusu’s needy cries, especially during the days when Nathalie left the Miraculous at home. All the same, she adored the kwami that continuously flew in circles around her head.

Nathalie smiled. Ever the attention-seeker, Duusu flipped in the air, regaling her with tales about how he went up against the cat next door, how he tricked the small child three floors down into being his friend, how the cheese smelled a familiar scent that he thought he’d taken a whiff during that one time Nathalie had taken him outside—

Her phone vibrated inside her purse. “We have work to do.” Nathalie gently interrupted the kwami. “I’m due to meet someone.”

He blinked, once, before his mouth grew into a wide smile, excitement palpable with the fluttering of his tail. 

The brooch inside her jewelry box hummed against her hand when she pinned it on her chest. There was no time to change into something appropriate for a casual stroll out at the park. If she were to be captured, let them see her in her work attire.

And yet the thought of being caught nagged at her. 

She pushed it away. 

“Duusu, _transforme-moi!”_

* * *

The way both the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous shone against the pale light above the ceiling of his underground lair distracted Gabriel from how his assistant doubled over behind him. He heard nothing but the echo of a thousand voices in his head, telling him that he was a fool who will reap what he had sown that day.

They were a multitude of overwhelming sounds, overlapping to form a gurgle of words that he dismissed despite the pain that they inflicted on him. They were adamant that they were _heard_ by the man who wanted to test fate. 

Gabriel’s eyes watered at the throbbing of his head. He bit his tongue and endured the pain. 

_This is all for Emilie._

It was that thought, at the way Emilie flickered in his mind, as she mouthed _“Bring me back, my love,”_ that allowed him a semblance of clarity.

Was it clarity or was it madness? He had yet to really sit and indulge his thoughts with that particular conundrum.

Gabriel stood, back ramrod straight, holding the Miraculous in his hands. The way he held onto them, with reverence, looked as though they were offerings to a god.

In his mind, Emilie’s coffin, surrounded by flowers and cocoons, white and thriving, might as well have been the dwelling of one.

* * *

“At last.”

Papillon prefaced his words with a somber grin, twisting the mask he wore at an odd angle. Better to still act the part of a gloating victor, of the villain who had won after his numerous attempts, after literal _years_ — even when the insides of his stomach coiled and churned with something resembling regret. 

He had the ’flair for the dramatic’ with every little thing that he did _,_ Mayura had told him once upon a time— when they were starting out and he was testing the waters of his power. Now, he was subdued in his reaction to _winning;_ not unlike when he had almost won years ago, during _Heroes Day_ , only to be humbled by the heroes who now knelt prostrate in front of him. 

There was joy somewhere, hidden beneath the crevices of his thoughts, as he held the two Miraculous he had sought after for his wish, at the thought of achieving what everyone else thought impossible. 

And yet, there was also guilt, lurking even deeper, as his hands shook at the sight of blond hair and green eyes. The jewels in his palm seemed to burn through his gloves, taunting him, almost as if they were sentient and gleeful at the loud ringing in his ears. 

_The ring is, was, my son’s— Adrien’s Miraculous._

Adrien, with Emilie’s angry gaze; Adrien, with Emilie’s smoldering frown; Adrien, with Emilie’s hostility rolling out of him in waves. 

Papillon felt every pulse through his own Miraculous. With each one came scorching fury and with each sting came the overwhelming guilt that he smothered under the layers that made him, Papillon.

“At last,” Mayura echoed behind him, silently taking in the tension draped over Papillon’s shoulders like a heavy cape. She paused, watching him with bated breath, as he held his cane tighter, grasping at the impossibility that his son, _his son_ , was his— _their_ enemy all along. Even she felt the disappointment in herself, felt the regret crawling along the underside of her tongue— and it was all she could do to keep herself calm in the face of that startling revelation.

Mayura lifted her head and said, softly, “Papillon.”

Hearing Mayura calling out to him brought him back from the stupor he had been immersed in. His mouth tasted like copper, like shards of glass piercing through his tongue at the mention of his name. They were in the same boat, of knowing Adrien and his friend— Marinette, was it?— of knowing what they had done to the two, both in the past and currently, as they succumbed to Papillon and the finality of his goal. 

Still, he had made up his mind despite the revelation. The moment the ring fell off and the transformation lifted and those once bright eyes glared into his and green reflected light blue and lips pursed into a deep snarl— he would think about it later. He couldn’t let himself slip _now._

Papillon’s voice rang above the din of white noise that filled the skies of Paris. The stillness of the city and of its heroes, unmoving on the ground, was all the confirmation he needed to declare his victory in so little words.

Ladybug and Chat Noir— that was, _Marinette_ and _Adrien_ hung low, foreheads touching cool metal. Papillon derived no satisfaction now that he could see the two clearer than ever. 

* * *

On his balcony, he could see everything. The dreams plaguing him have begun to have adverse effects on his designs. As much as he thought the woman in his dreams was beautiful, he couldn’t let it cloud his love for his wife. 

Emilie meant so much to him that he’d do anything for her.

_Anything?_

His thoughts stilled and his breathing hitched. What did anything mean in this case? What would he do if Emilie were to disappear from his life?

* * *

_“Bring my wife back to me. Bring back my Emilie.”_

* * *

Ever since he had met Nathalie Sancoeur, everything had become a blurred mess.

Gabriel was almost ashamed when he realized that the silhouette in his dreams, the faceless woman who stood in front of the window of his atelier, _was_ the face of the Sancoeur brand. He hadn’t realized it until she’d shown up and held out her hand for him to shake— hadn’t realized until he felt the grip on his fingers, his palm— hadn’t realized until he could hear his wife calling his name, willing him back from his mind.

It was her red streak and stony expression, her rigid stance and her unshakable countenance— it was _her_ that stood still, without fail, when exhaustion overtook him and he found himself back in that makeshift atelier, where Emilie’s large portrait hung behind him like a watchful sentry, green eyes trained on his canvass as he drew a different face every time he tried to will his hands to move.

It was familiar. _She was familiar._

_What was she doing there? What was he doing again?_

“I’m sorry. He isn’t feeling well right now,” Emilie had said, apologetic at his display and already pulling him away from the awkward silence. Gabriel hadn’t even taken a glance at anyone _but_ _Mlle._ Sancoeur before Emilie tugged him towards the other side of the room.

Even without turning back, he knew that blazing blue eyes followed him until he disappeared into the crowd.

He couldn’t get a sentence out even as they stopped near the doors, where Emilie swiftly fished out her phone and dialed Grenier and ordered him to fetch them. He was quiet in the car, on the ride all the way back to the manor. 

“What happened, _mon mari?_ I know you aren’t used to people, but that was…” Even when Emilie flashed him an incredulous glare, shaking her head as she pulled him to their bedroom to get changed, he hadn’t said a word.

* * *

Nathalie, his ever silent companion, had fallen to her knees. Her body ached with pain, glorified by the increased pounding in her head. Anxiety swirled against her bruised shins and it felt as though the burning in her lungs would never cease.

Was this how she was going to die? Forgotten as Gabriel recited the words he had practiced in the privacy of his atelier— 

_Bring my wife back to me._

The thought of Gabriel’s wish; of his wife in his arms, awake and _alive_ and breathing, stung her deeper than she would readily admit. That thought; though dipped in honey and fed through a golden spoon, felt like her last meal. The moment she had declared herself loyal to Gabriel, she had known there was no other way this would end. She had accepted the reward that she would gain from donning a Miraculous that was never hers.

Her reward was death and she knew it. 

Nathalie, with her cheek resting on the cold steel of Gabriel’s lair, listened as he rambled on about his desire to see Emilie’s smile once more. 

A breath stirred over her other cheek. Duusu, as if sensing her needs, fluttered close by. Gabriel had yet to notice. She was sure that he wouldn’t— preoccupied with his wife as he currently was. 

She was so sure, so certain of the fact that it was a surprise to her when a hand found itself underneath her shoulders and pulled her up. Her wobbly legs helped her none as she immediately stumbled upon being held upright. Even when she wanted nothing more than to resume her usual gait, ignoring the pain as it racked throughout her body, it was hard with how she succumbed to the weakness that the Peacock Miraculous had already gifted her. 

But Gabriel supported her body anyway. He took hold of her once more, firm and secure, again pulling her to stand beside him. She leaned into his touch and his frame, felt the warmth of his body against the cold of her own, and basked in it. There was some grunting and huffing that came from being forced when her body wanted to lay on the ground. The voice was far too soft to be _hers_ but she knew that it _was_ and that unnerved her most of all.

“Nathalie,” he murmured.

“I’m fine.” The lie, so well-practiced, slipped past her lips before she could even think about it. At this point, it was an automated response to him breathing out her name in the same tone of voice he would with Emilie’s. 

Even so, she knew Gabriel didn’t believe her. Why would he, when she still couldn’t stand on her own? When her legs had decided that they wanted nothing more but to crumple on the floor? 

“ _Monsieur,_ I’m fine,” Nathalie repeated. Her grip on Gabriel’s arm never lessened, clinging to him even when her words went contrary to what she felt. “ _Gabriel,_ the wish.”

Gabriel looked at her. “The wish,” he echoed. “Of course.” 

Still, he waited for Nathalie to let go before he did. He made sure she could stand before he moved to face his wife. Again, he gripped the Miraculous in his hand, head spinning with the thought of Emilie back in his arms.

* * *

Nathalie laid on the ground, resting her back against the tiled ceiling. Her eyes were closed as she swallowed the air in, taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent of morning dew. 

The horizon was vast and was there, a sight to behold even when it dripped ink and stars instead of light. Paris was a quiet place in the hours just before dawn. Meadows which should be green look black to her and the building below her was nothing but a blur in the dark.

No one was awake except for her.

Nathalie looked at the sky. Stars littered the expansive burrow of space, still too excited to retreat as the day slowly started. Maybe she could touch them if she ever gets high enough to reach them. Maybe Mayura would give her the chance to.

Galaxies spanned her vision. Stardust swirled through her thoughts. The stars spun tales far greater than that of heroes and villains and she wished to read every single one of them.

In time, she will. In time, she will get the chance to be a star of her own.

When has she ever been such a romantic, to think of ideas like so?

Nathalie’s thoughts lingered on the brightest star as the horizon gave way to its entrance. She saw its rays, felt its warmth seeping through the thin layer of cotton sticking to her too-pale skin. Again, she closed her eyes as the day finally stirred to a start, content to lounge in peace.

The morning arrived with little fanfare. The stars in the sky vanished with a pop and a scatter, afraid of the biggest of all of them.

“Nathalie?”

Gabriel’s voice rang above her. Nathalie listened to the hoarseness of it, lined with a certain confusion that Nathalie understood as concern for her well-being. Gabriel has always bled such instinct, especially after the whole debacle concerning a certain Miraculous. 

Her eyes opened to the sight of a bleary Gabriel Agreste, blinking with that surprising worry at Nathalie’s prone form.

The Butterfly Miraculous glinted against the growing light, pinned on Gabriel’s undershirt. Nathalie felt something in her bones, something different from how she usually was. Maybe it was the sleep-deprivation— she hadn’t really gone to bed the night before. Sleep was a commodity she had been denying herself for the last few weeks, though not wholly her fault. 

And yet, as though that were the force that provoked her bravery, Nathalie grinned, teeth and all, patting the space beside her. 

That early in the morning, they were neither boss nor subordinate. Nathalie knew, as did Gabriel.

Annoyed as he was (and she _knew_ that much; because waking up at ungodly hours in the morning was not a Gabriel Agreste thing), he sat.

Glimpses of white flew over Nathalie’s eyes. Gabriel’s robe fluttered with the wind until he bunched it up in his hand. The laughter that pervaded the air sounded half-asleep and Nathalie only realized that it was _hers_ and that she was slowly succumbing to her body’s desire for rest. The finality in her thoughts, about remaining awake to spend even that short a moment with Gabriel ceased all forms of lethargy from seeping through her pores.

The moment when Gabriel set himself down, folding his legs beneath his robe, was when Nathalie turned to stare at him.

“What are you doing out here, Nathalie? You should be resting,” he asked, speaking with the curiosity of a friend who had awakened to the morning, at the cold breeze brushing past his fingers, with drowsiness prevalent in the downturn of his lips.

“ _Au petit bonheur la chance,_ ” she murmured. 

“What was that?”

Nathalie hummed, turning back to stare at the sky. “Nothing. I was just admiring the stars.” 

Gabriel blew hot air against his hands. 

“I never would have thought you were the type to go stargazing,” he commented as silence settled between them. Nathalie sucked in a breath.

“It’s a new developing hobby,” she said after a beat. “ _Monsieur._ ”

He frowned. Whatever he was going to say next was kept to himself as Nathalie let out a yawn. It was a _moment_ between them, always, that silence that never seemed too stifling or uncomfortable. He didn’t want to ask the question that he knew he _should_ ask, and she didn’t want to answer any should he keep quiet. 

But the question never needed to be asked. Her hands curled, grasping at the robe she wore. Her teeth chattered. The warmth of the sun loosened her tongue. She was slipping.

“You don’t need to worry. I’ve decided on it.”

Nathalie could feel his mind racing. She pressed her face against his shoulder, feeling everything that her words implied. His hand rested on her head, as though attempting to comfort her. 

“I will always worry. This is _your_ life. I will worry, even when you say I shouldn’t.”

“This is for Emilie,” she spoke, the hardness in her eyes unnoticed by Gabriel. “This is for Emilie and for you and for Adrien. Let me _do_ this.”

She could hear him swallow. His hand had found its way across her shoulder now, where his grip tightened, each finger digging against her skin. It felt like he was trying to parse through her thoughts with the way he held on.

On the exhale, he asked, “Nathalie, _why?_ ”

If she were much more awake, or if the world wasn’t blurring at the edges of her vision, or if she wasn’t signing away her _life_ for a cause that was doomed from the very start— maybe, _maybe_ she wouldn’t have laughed. 

* * *

In the presence of the love of his life, Gabriel finally slipped on the two Miraculous. There was no time to dwell on the clashing accessories or how he purposefully wore the Black Cat’s jewel on his left ring finger. Emilie’s wedding band (which he had been wearing until that moment) was back with its true owner.

The appearance of the two kwamis that inhabited the Miraculous followed soon after. The Ladybug and the Black Cat emerged from their jewels and for a long moment, couldn’t decide if they were going to speak to Gabriel or not.

The Black Cat was seething. The Ladybug was morose.

Gabriel, meanwhile, was calm.

Before he could say a word, the wailing that was typical of Duusu rang against their ears. The two kwamis expressions flashed with shock and concern as they watched Duusu appear from his perch on top of Nathalie’s head, bawling his heart out. Nathalie did her best to hush the kwami like she was handling a child but Duusu simply wailed louder.

Nooroo found it in him to glide towards the crying kwami, leaving his own spot over Gabriel’s shoulder, wary of the eyes on him. 

“You—” The Black Cat could only say, rage clouding his vision, attention back at the man who was currently wearing his Miraculous. "You’re, you’re Papillon? I knew there was something fishy about you!"

“Plagg, please,” the Ladybug spoke, voice small.

“No, no, no! This is the guy that keeps holding my kitten back!” Plagg yelled, still facing an eerily calm Gabriel. “He hurt him, Tikki. He hurt his own—”

Eyes flashed wide. Gabriel waited for the storm to pass. He hadn’t realized that the kwami was protective of his son. They _might_ be the same in that regard had Gabriel shown his protectiveness through better means. 

“You _know—_ you know who he is. You probably knew even before you took us, didn’t you?” Plagg sneered, anger apparent with the snarl of his teeth.

Gabriel held his gaze. Staring into the eyes of a God whose rage felt immeasurable should have had him quaking in his shoes. It should have inspired him to beg for forgiveness for the trouble and pain he caused Paris. It should have made him regret that he had done so much to the people that had nothing to do with his grief.

But it didn’t. 

He had yet to answer when Duusu’s cries loudened considerably, echoing the thick tension through his tears. Plagg was quick to drop his anger, set aside as his attention fell on Duusu. He hissed at Nathalie as he approached and, unsurprisingly, she took it in stride, still consoling the crying kwami on her palm.

Gabriel glanced at the Ladybug kwami, watching as she floated silently. She seemed to debate whether to approach her fellow gods or not. 

“Why?” She asked instead, all wonder and surprise at the fact that Gabriel was neither reveling in his victory nor inflicting them with the cruelty he was known for. Gabriel could hear his own voice echoing from that one word, that similar query, directed at someone else, a little deprave, confused. “Power? Riches? What would you even want?” She continued, and he tried to reach inside him, an attempt to pull out any emotion other than regret and despair.

He almost felt hollow, for some reason, as his gaze returned to stare at Nathalie.

“I have no need for riches or power,” he answered honestly. Gabriel closed his eyes, and with that, was unaware of the glare that Plagg had given him or the astonishment that colored Tikki’s expression. 

He took a staggering breath. An exhale that washed away the burden of all his thoughts, if only for a moment. Cotton-mouthed and disoriented. “I just want my wife, my love, back.”

Understanding dawned Tikki and Plagg’s expressions. “You know that a wish like that would change everything,” Tikki whispered, reeling. Her eyes darted to the coffin in front of them, with the sun acting as its spotlight, making it all the more obvious. “Magic like that, it will need compensation.”

At her words, Duusu cried harder and louder and his voice echoed in the lair. He held onto Nathalie’s hand, sobbing so crudely and deeply that his voice seemed to penetrate through his skin, crawling through all the veins that made up his body.

“We’re aware,” Nathalie spoke for the first time since the arrival of the two gods. She stood, in Gabriel’s imagination, with her back ramrod straight, tension bleeding through every inch of her body. The implication of her words was thick and viscous like tar. Gabriel felt as though he was drowning in it. 

“You’re going to—” Tikki cried just as Plagg said, “Adrien’s going to be disappointed,” before retreating to Tikki’s side.

When Gabriel opened his eyes, the air around him felt heavier. Nooroo still lingered near Nathalie’s palm where Duusu lay, whimpering now. He hadn’t approached his assistant even when he could see the paleness of her skin or the way her knees trembled to support her. 

The fire in Plagg’s eyes had dimmed. Gabriel watched as he floated beside Tikki— and all the while, the red kwami implored Nathalie to _think about what she was doing._ Had Gabriel found his voice, he would have said that he had tried that— that he had already asked of her to step down and help him in ways that wouldn’t end with her death. But Nathalie wore him down, pushed and pushed and pushed him to the brink of agreeing and letting her do this because _this is for your family._

_Let me do this for you, Gabriel._

“If it’s to bring his mother back, I don’t mind. I never had.”

Gabriel wanted to say something but in the face of Nathalie’s conviction and in the presence of his wife, he could only nod. This couldn’t be what she _wanted_ but there wasn’t time to question her. He didn’t know if this was what he wanted too.

He took one last look at Nathalie’s face, at Nooroo who never left his assistant’s side, at Duusu who remained still on Nathalie’s palm, at Tikki and Plagg who would never understand— and then at Emilie who slept peacefully, unaware of everything.

* * *

There was a point to his call, maybe. Papillon held his cane near his mouth, the screen flashing Mayura’s image. It rang and rang and rang, and on the seventh ring was when she finally picked up.

A wet cough, and then, a raspy voice on the other line said, “Yes?”

For a moment, Papillon was silent, blinking as he heard a faint thrumming in the background. After all, he didn’t think she would pick up. It had been a quiet week between them. Not even a _sentimonster_ graced the city after he had run off, matching the expression of dread and confusion on her face when she _realized_ when she had said that he had a—

_Wife._

_Emilie._

He had been reminded of Emilie that night.

Jumping across the rooftops of Paris, he was reminded of his _wife—_ asleep at home, resting beneath the covers of their bed. When he slipped into his attic and felt through the darkness, he was numb to the bone. The quick transformation from Papillon to Gabriel, and then quiet disappearance of Nooroo to his own sleeping quarters in his atelier below, all passed him without so much as a fuss. 

Normally, Nooroo would watch him, eyes narrowed, every time he entertained the thought of meeting up with the villainess. He would accuse his holder, though limited to glances and the occasional side-eye, because the implication settled heavily between them— and really, that was _what_ it looked like, considering the circumstance.

And wasn’t _that_ the crux of his problem. Knowingly going through with his nightly meetings with Mayura, even when he had Emilie beside him the morning after. The guilt that would have eaten him alive all but vanished in the presence of the woman, because inasmuch as he would like to ignore it, the feeling that Mayura was familiar to him often overrode his need to stay away. 

How could he trust her, when he didn’t even recognize who she was underneath the glamour of magic? It was _there_ and he was constantly at odds with himself because that glamour hid the one part of her that he wanted to figure out.

Mayura didn’t know about Emilie, of course. Or did she? He hadn’t asked then. He hadn’t asked even after he had cleared his head, let the thoughts linger, and let his emotions settle. He hadn’t tried to ask even when he heard his phone ringing, Mayura’s picture alight against the screen of his cane. 

She had tried to contact him after that night. It might have been petty on his part to ignore her even when he was transformed and he could hear his cane ringing against the emptiness of his attic. Could he even call it pettiness? He wasn’t _mad_ at her for correctly assuming that he had a wife. He wondered _how,_ of course he would. He had never let it slip, to the children he looked after, to the press; he _never_ shared the fact that he had a family.

And so the week passed. No _sentimonsters,_ not even a peep from the villainess. Papillon hadn’t entertained the thought of going back to their meeting place, not until he could think clearly.

But now that she answered his only means of reaching out, Papillon couldn’t help but breathe out. Another cough brought him out of his stupor. 

If his hands were clammy with sweat underneath his gloves, and if his heart beat faster than it normally would, well, Mayura would never know. Papillon cleared his throat, and for the first time in a week, spoke—

* * *

_“What now?”_

* * *

_end._

**Author's Note:**

> translations? these are basic french phrases but i'm putting it here anyway. might edit this later if i forgot to put some,,,
> 
> ma chère (femme) = my dear (wife)  
> mon (charmant) mari = my (charming) husband  
> mère = mother  
> père = father  
> merci à voi! = thank you! (to them)  
> Mme., M., Mlle., = Madame, Monsieur, Madmoesille (Mrs., Mr., Ms.)  
> transforme-moi = transform me  
> mon amour = my love  
> Au petit bonheur la chance = french phrase that sort of has the meaning 'with a bit of luck'? if you throw it at google translate it says 'the haphazard' but lmao that isn't what i meant  
> 
> 
> hmu @ [telmes](https://telmes.tumblr.com/)!


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